Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

A SNOW STORM IN HUMBOLDT.

"THE DEER TRAIL," HUMBOLDT Co., CALIFORNIA. January 12th, 1890. SUCH a dreary day I have never known! Since early in October, when our winter began, we have had storm after storm. Rain, rain, rain, and snow, snow, snow. The ground around my cabin has been bare but once, and then only for a few hours.

Last night the snow fell lightly, and until about two this morning; when I was awakened by a driving rain pouring down in torrents. It has continued without cessation, but this northerly wind will soon bring snow. I tried to get out and work, but I could not. Even my oil clothes would not protect me.

fore it is gone, if not by to-morrow.

It was half past eight by the time I had dressed the deer, cleaned my gun, chopped wood, cooked and eaten supper, washed dishes, and swept my cabin. It is now half past ten, and I am going to bed. I shall go out for a short hunt at daybreak, if it does not storm too hard.

[ocr errors]

Monday night, January 13th. It stormed too hard. I have cut a little wood, and worked in my shop to finish some bolts begun ten days ago. That is all I have accomplished. I am so tired of this stormy weather, I would gladly work at almost anything.

Saturday night, January 26th.- I see that my last entry was on January 13th. Twelve days! To me twelve years would seem none too long for the events of that short time. I shall not attempt to write, tonight, of all that has happened. I could not. I never can. If I did, and told the whole truth, I would, not be believed. My story will be plain, with no attempt at a graphic description of the unprecedented storm that has overtaken and overwhelmed us.

About noon I began cooking dinner, but as I had bread to bake, it was nearly two o'clock when I sat down to eat. I had barely finished, when I heard a whoop. I ran out, and answered. In a moment my friend and neighbor, Mr. Carney, appeared from the bushes with a deer on his back. He was wet to his skin. I bade him go into my cabin; not to stop even to shake himself. After helping him off with the deer, he sat down to my table, and I proceeded to fill him with hot coffee, bread, pork, and beans. Yesterday he shot three deer. He took one home last night, and hung the other in the woods. This morning The snow-storm I noted on the 13th he came back for them, and he had been continued during the 44th and 15th a mile out of his way to bring one of without cessation, covering the ground. them to me. about my cabin to a depth of three feet. On the 14th, trees began to fall. Some about my cabin looked threatening.

He stayed but a few minutes; then I washed my dishes, dressed the deer, chopped wood, brought water from the spring, and prepared supper, bread, coffee, and venison chops, ribs and loins. I have never eaten more juicy or tender meat. That deer will save me more than one half my daily expenses for a week, and I will have another be

At this moment I am as completely cut off from the world as I would be were I the lone survivor of a shipwrecked crew on an uninhabited island in midocean.

While I was eating my dinner, the top of a large oak fell alongside of my cabin, burying one side in snow, and covering my doorsteps with snow, leaves, and broken limbs. It so frightened me my heart almost ceased to beat. I should have left here, then, but after a careful

survey I concluded that other trees would not touch me in falling, or would hold, and I would not go.

They kept falling that day and the next. Thursday night I thought of changing my bed to a corner of the cabin I deemed safest, but was so weary I simply swung the head around. I placed an ax and hatchet under my pillow, that I might chop myself free if I should be pinned down. I feared that more than instant death. No one travels this trail. It is absolutely impassable. I might lie and freeze to death, or chill, which is worse than freezing.

When there is danger I sleep lightly, no matter how tired I may be. About midnight I fell into a light slumber, but was immediately aroused by a big crack. I bolted upright in bed, waiting with breathless anxiety. I heard it coming, noted its increased velocity,- Crack! Crash! The tree had struck my cabin with tremendous force, filling it with snow, and covering me and my bed.

As soon as it settled I tried to strike a light. I believe I was remarkably cool under such a strain, and yet it was quite a little while before I could find the candle, which I had placed within my reach when I went to bed. I expected to find my cabin caved in, but I did not. The fireplace was filled with snow and the chimney demolished. One window was forced in by the weight of snow, and a solid embankment of snow closed the other. I had buried my fire under ashes when I went to bed. I found it under two feet of snow.

All sleep was knocked out of me, but I went back to my bed, shook off the snow, crawled in, and took a smoke to think over my situation. I made up my mind to leave at daylight, if I lived till then. But alas for all human calculations, they "gang aft aglee." This was scarcely a foretaste of what was to

come.

There was a tree about forty feet from the cabin, that I had been watching ever

since I have been here. I had surveyed it from every point, and made up my mind just where it would fall, if free; yet one can seldom be sure as to which way they will draw. It hung like the "sword of Damocles" over my head. It swayed back and forth under its heavy load, sweeping over the entire length of the cabin. Thursday night I took out my ax to cut it down, but after a few blows I thought, "If I fail to make it draw as I want it to, I shall be left out in the mountains in a violent storm, with no shelter and no place to go," and so I left it.

Well, after my smoke, I concluded to clean out and rebuild my fireplace, get breakfast, then, at break of day set out for Mr. Carney's. At 8 A. M. by my time, which was fast, for I had not seen the sun for two weeks, and could not get the true time, I left my cabin. The snow was at least three feet deep, and I was an hour or more getting up the hill. It is not over five hundred feet, and I can make the climb in ten minutes easily, when the ground is bare.

Trees and limbs lay across the trail, and I had to travel where I could. When I reached the summit, out of the woods and into the brush, I found the snow everywhere from four to six feet deep. I wallowed in it almost helplessly, but worked my way along, as it was down hill. To add to the danger of my situa tion, it began to snow so furiously that I could not see a landmark. The trail was entirely obliterated, and in a short time I was hopelessly lost. I concluded to give it up and go back to my cabin. It was like traveling at midnight, or blindfolded.

It was about II A. M. when I again reached my cabin. I took another survey of the tree, with the intention of felling it, but it was too late. It hung over the lower gable of my cabin, and with the increased weight of a foot more of snow it could not be felled to clear. The wind swayed it back and forth, and

on which end of the arc it would go I could not tell. It was impossible to discover its weakest point.

I determined to get a hearty lunch and try for Mr. Carney's again, all the time praying the tree would hold until I should be from under it. I only made coffee and ate bread. I forgot the nice venison and bacon I had already cooked. While I was eating I heard a crack. I stopped, trembled, and listened. Then came another big crack. I ran to the door and looked up. I could see nothing, and yet I knew it was the tree. The suspense was terrible, but did not last long. I heard it crushing the outer cabin, and instantly the crash came. When I went to the door I ran directly under the tree, but I did not stay there. I ran back to the fireplace and waited. Those few minutes seemed a life-time. The roof smashed in, and once more I was blinded with the flying snow that filled the cabin. The tree stopped, resting on the plates and corner posts and door. Little corner posts, only three by four. Plates two by four. Once more I had been miraculously saved. I said aloud, "Thank God, the tree is down, and I am safe."

It fell about I P. M. I finished lunch, gathered up a few things, carried them back where they would not get wet, and started. It is two miles to my nearest neighbor, and two and a half to Mr. Carney's place. I hoped to reach Mr. Carney's, but did not that night. It was half past one when I started up the hill. There were four hours of daylight in which to make the two miles,- a half mile an hour. The sun came out as I started, but soon disappeared in a storm cloud, which poured snow on my devoted head, and added another foot under my feet and legs, already weary and almost exhausted from my morning struggle.

I could see the tracks along the trail up the hill I had broken in the morning, and I made good time until I lost them. A temporary lull in the storm showed

me a landmark, and I knew where I was. Then followed a long struggle over bushes from twelve to fifteen feet high, with from six to ten feet of snow under me. Sometimes I would miss a bush, and go down; then I would have to pack the snow to get out. Finally I reached the top of the ridge I was trying for, and found myself on the trail once more. I did not lose it again. My only hope was that in the woods I could make time, as more than half the snow was on the tree-tops. Although one tree had broken above my head, and others were cracking and falling around me, I was delighted when out of the first patch of brush, and into the timber. Then came another mile and a half of brush up and down hill.

I carried a stick four feet long, and nowhere in the brush or open country was the snow less in depth than the stick. It was heavy, but light enough to let me in up to my arms. When my legs were tired out pushing ahead heavy masses of snow that would refuse to part and let me through, I would lie down, lay hold of a bush if possible, and pull myself along. Sometimes I would seize the stick with both hands, and throw myself forward on my knees. I traveled on hands and knees a good deal, going down hill, to rest myself. If there room I would lie down, and roll over and over to the foot. Oh, such a trip as that was!

was

When I had traveled only one third the distance, I had consumed more than one half of the time. one half of the time. On the trail, just before night, I stopped at a fir-tree, and filled one pocket with pitch. When I stopped I was warm. Though I was wet to the skin from my ankles to the top of my head, my feet were dry. I had taken the precaution to tie each up in a grain sack. Had I made them as big as old "Nick Cisco's" feet it would have been all the better. I stopped at the tree only a few minutes, but when I drew on my wet gloves and started on

I was chilled to the very marrow in my bones. I redoubled my efforts to warm myself again. At last I reached the top of that hill, with but a quarter of a mile to the top of another, when I knew I would be safe, and within a half mile of shelter. I looked at my watch, and felt that I must make it in a half hour. On I started as fast as I could. I was then in the timber, but there was a brush patch ahead, which I knew I must go through by daylight. While I was going down hill, a big madrone tree (the arbutus) cracked. I stepped back, saying, "Go it, if you are going to fall, and be in a hurry about it, too, for I can't wait." A lull in the wind, and all was still. I hurried by, never looking back. When I returned one week after, the tree was not there. At last I reached the brush, and such a time as I had getting through. It was all side hill, and the snow had bent the small trees across the trail, until, in some cases, I had to knock off three or four feet of snow, or dig a hole, and crawl under. The best of the time I was in up to my armpits, struggling, almost against hope, to make headway. I made the best progress on my hands and feet, but I could not keep it up long, for at times my hands would break through, and let me in head first; then I was worse off than when the right end was down, no matter how deep.

At last I reached the top, where I was in timber, and safe! It was dark, and I lost the trail, but I cared not; for I knew where I was, and that I could get through if it took me till midnight. I gave whoop after whoop until a familiar voice answered, and directed me to the cabin of Mr. Catander.

When I reached it I was wet, tired, sleepy, and exhausted. The struggle over, I gave out entirely, but was safe at last. A cup of tea and a warm bed soon made me forget my troubles.

My story is not yet told by any means, but that last sweet memory reminds

me that it is again time to say "Good night."

January 28th.- Another stormy day. A continuous downpour of rain since last night before dark. It is making an impression on the snow, and if it all goes off with the rain, Eel River valley will be flooded. Even as it is, should it stop now, an immense damage will be done. Whole farms go at once, sometimes. We have had our troubles in the mountains, now they will have theirs in the valleys.

Well, to continue my narrative :—

I reached Mr. Catander's cabin Friday night. I remained there till after breakfast Sunday morning, then left for Mr. Carney's.

Monday morning Mrs. Carney ran into the cabin, saying, "John, the barn has fallen flat." It had been loaded with a tremendous weight of snow on the roof. There were two cows, nine calves, and a yearling bull under it. We went directly to work, and uncovered one cow before breakfast; and after that all the others. The bull ran off all right, but the rest were nearly gone. Three calves were dead. How it was possible for any to be alive I cannot understand. They were all flattened out, and the two cows had a six-inch beam across their necks. The calves said, "B-a-a! It is a cold day for calves of our tender age." I thought so, too. We made a shed for them at once.

Thursday it rained all day and all night. Friday Mr. Carney and I came back to my own cabin. The snow was still very deep. No more trees had fallen on the cabin, but great danger lay in getting off the big one. Succeeding beyond my most sanguine hopes we soon had it on the ground. Mr. Carney then helped me to replace the gable, leaning it against the remaining part of the roof. After lunch Mr. Carney left

I then patched the chimney and some holes in the cabin, to prevent the snow from falling in. The next day I

put on a new roof, and now my cabin is as good as new, with the exception of the chimney. That draws well, however, and will last till the snow is gone, and I can rebuild it. My workshop is in complete ruin, and I miss it very much. So far I have only stated facts, and briefly noted my wonderful escape from instant death, or what would have been worse, a lingering death by being caught in the wreck under a tree or limb, and perishing from exposure, starvation, or fire. Also, my perilous trip through the woods and snow to a place of safety. It was in the dark of the moon, and when I reached Mr. Catander's cabin I could scarcely distinguish an object, and was so exhausted I could scarcely

move.

You have no idea of the intense blackness of the darkness in these woods. Every other tree is an evergreen, and covered with a dense foliage through which the sunlight can scarcely penetrate in daytime. If the oak alone were deciduous like your Eastern oak, I would have had none of these troubles. On the tops of these trees the snow, in many cases, was piled three feet deep; and during the storm it was a crack, crash, and boom, continuously that lasted the four days. The first tree that fell frightened me more than any of the others. It gave no warning. All the cracks blended into one big crash, and it fell just ten feet from my cabin.

I told you I thought of changing my bed. Had I done so I would have placed myself directly under the tree that fell upon my cabin that night. I cannot describe to you my feelings when that crash came. If you can imagine how

you would feel to escape, by a hair's breadth, instant death, you can know how I felt. I cannot put it on paper.

That night, after the moon rose, I lighted my lantern, and went out to look around. I was amazed. There was an immense oak, the top of which cov ered my entire cabin, standing up, as it were, on the ends of its limbs, the body ten or twelve feet from the ground, so that the top almost cleared my cabin. It struck my roof a tremendous blow, but did comparatively little harm. How a tree of such tremendous weight could stop where it did, short of a miracle, I could not understand. And why did not the ton of snow it brought with it crush my cabin like an egg shell? At daylight I saw that the tree in falling brought two other trees with it, that broke off about twenty-five or thirty feet from the ground. They helped ease the blow from the big tree, and probably the snow fell then, too. One of the smaller trees did more harm to the cabin than the large one. Of the rest I have told you.

I am

I must close my narrative now, as I have to make bread tonight. proud to tell you. I can make bread, and good bread. First, I made it with yeast powder. When that was gone, Mrs. Carney gave me yeast. When out of yeast I have learned to make it with sour dough, and that is the kind I must make tonight, and in the future, until I can get down to the river, where I will buy hops with which to make my own yeast. I hope to go to Rio Dell by Monday, for supplies, and a rifle. The end for tonight.

E. B.

« AnteriorContinuar »